


Part 2: The Beginning

by orphan_account



Series: The End and the Beginning [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Depression, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 08:32:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8365240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's easy to accept a second chance.





	

### I.

The grey sky was tinged a dark purple along the horizon, the wind still along the endless expanse of desert. In the distance, thunder could be heard and lightning could be seen, streaking the sky in brilliant flashes of purple and white. It was a rare occurrence, but nothing Keith paid any mind to. He just watched as the clouds crept steadily closer, safe in the confinements of the cave he'd made camp in the last few days. 

He felt like someone on the very edge of their sanity. Not only had he followed the tug in his chest out to this place, listening to a soft whisper of a voice inside of his head, but he had actually _found_ something out here. He had heard of cave paintings before, yes, but he'd never heard of any quite like this. The walls were covered in a myriad of bright colors, all leading the eye to the blue lion in the center of each depiction. The blue lion was _everywhere,_ depicted as saving her people, nursing them back to health, being worshiped as a goddess that everyone admired and loved. From what Keith could figure out, she had told stories to her followers, a story that spanned many years into what seemed to be the future, the same time he happened to be living in.

Or at least, Keith could only guess. 

He'd spent days trying to figure out what it all meant, using a piece of charcoal to copy the drawings and make a sketch of the carvings, his hands as black as the night would be when he was finally done. He had three sketchbooks filled cover to cover with the drawings and his theories, his questions idly scribbled down when he just needed to think. 

Every so often, he'd write to Shiro, asking him what he thought this all meant. 

Keith was never met with an answer, though. Every day it was just him out there in those caves, falling down ledges and getting lost, the only company provided to him being his stolen hovercraft and that voice inside his head. It had taken Keith a while to realize she had even been there. She didn't say words, per say, but she was a presence he couldn't ignore after a while. She was gentle. She was kind. When Keith was lost, she helped guide his way back out into the world. When Keith felt a fit threatening at the edge of his throat, she would soothe him. She reassured him everything would be okay, in time. 

So Keith nodded, and he agreed. Everything would be okay. In time.

He sat and watched the rain at the cave's entrance, pulling the blanket tight around his shoulders. The soft crackle of the fire he'd made soothed him. It had been one of those days where Shiro had been on his mind and nothing much at all had been accomplished, but she said it was okay. Everything happened for a reason, and it would all work itself out soon. Keith just had to hold on until that _day._

### II.

Keith woke with a start, the sun just barely touching the horizon's edge. The faintest twinkle of morning stars could still be seen in a pink and purple sky, calming him and soothing his nerves. 

It had been a year, somehow. Keith had kept track of every agonizing, every numbing day, and the occasional day or two where he actually felt normal. When things felt fine, and he'd buy himself a doughnut in that small town next to the highway after buying his gas and supplies. A small treat to himself. Something to remind him that he was still alive, and he was still trying to find the truth for Shiro's sake. Even if that process devolved into obsessing over a strange, ancient blue lion that Keith may or may not have been talking to, inside his head. 

It had been a year, though, and something deep inside of Keith's gut told him this was the day. Something would happen today, and Keith was ready for it. He'd been preparing for it.

Keith waited patiently at his shack, sitting on the roof, basking in the hot sun. It was uncomfortable, and it made him want to curl up in the shade of his home, but he refrained. She told him to cast his gaze skyward, and so he did. 

Keith sat like that, still as a statue and well into the evening until she finally told him to _go._ It echoed in his head with such a threatening urgency that Keith didn't have it in himself to hesitate and doubt it. He jumped onto his hovercraft right from the roof, his jacket slipped hastily onto his shoulders as he kicked the bike into gear.

Knowing what direction to follow was no problem. She guided him through instinct and gentle nudges, his hands carving a path back to the Garrison with the bike's handlebars. He hadn't even noticed until he saw the lights in the distance, bright and offensive against his eyes. Keith stared at the building for a long time as he came to a stop, his nose wrinkling as he remembered his last day there. 

He had fought with the headmaster. Their officer, the wank in charge of the place, whatever he liked to call himself. Keith had fought with him, and he had _screamed_ at him. He had thrown a tantrum that he still didn't regret, not even to this day, when the ultimate result meant he was living in just a wooden shack in the middle of the desert. In the end, that wooden shack was better than the hell hole that guy had to offer, though. 

Lost in thought and forgotten emotion, his body growing slack and careless, he was jerked back to reality by loud, white noise. It made his head hurt, but one thing rang out very clearly; he needed a distraction. His time was coming, and very soon. 

Keith wanted to think about how crazy this was. How crazy it was he had gotten his hands on this kinda ammo, why he even _needed_ it in the first place. It was just something he had grabbed on the way out of the Garrison in a fit of rage, wanting to take as much as he could in the hopes of making at least one person suffer. Explosives were valuable and no one was allowed to touch them, so Keith had. He'd touched as many as he could. Maybe he thought about coming back to blow the place up at the time. Maybe he'd thought about blowing himself up. Maybe he'd thought about blowing a mountain up for stress relief. He didn't know. In any case, all he knew was that he was digging small holes into the earth, the sand flowing through his fingers like a river, his mind wandering. 

Soon after he was done, just like that, he saw it. At first Keith thought it was a shooting star. He scoffed as he watched it, moving to look away, but she yanked his attention sharply back onto it, making him watch. The longer he did, too, the sooner he realized that was _not_ a shooting star. That looked vaguely like a ship, set on a crash course for Earth. 

Keith's heart jumped into his throat as the adrenaline settled in. The new few hours passed in what felt like seconds. The only _real,_ moment in the entire situation was Keith busting into the ship, running over to the table that man had been lying upon. Keith grabbed his face, and time stopped. Keith was holding Shiro's face. It was rugged, scarred, clammy with sweat and set into an expression of fear, framed by a tuft of white, familiar hair. He looked different, but that was Shiro. It was Keith's Shiro. 

### III.

Despite the blur of events, the intensity of the moment after every moment, Keith and the others had made it back to the shack. They'd lost their pursuers, but Keith was still paranoid. He'd stayed up the rest of that night, helping Lance, Pidge, and Hunk get settled into the meager bedroom the shack had on the side. Despite Lance's abrasiveness, they were all nice. She agreed, too. She seemed fond of Lance in particular and noted how nice it was to hear different voices. In the end, Keith was inclined to agree. 

Soon after they went quiet, though, all Keith could focus on was Shiro. Shiro was on their old, dingy couch, the one they had dragged all the way out to the shack. Shiro was wrapped up in their horribly plaid comforter, the ugly red sweater slipped over his torso. Keith didn't know what Shiro was wearing, but it felt thin and flimsy, and it was decorated in too many cuts to count. Keith didn't have it in him to count. 

He watched Shiro all through the night, only nodding off shortly before sunrise. He supposed all of the thoughts running circles in his head finally exhausted him in the end. Shiro was back, Shiro was _alive,_ and Keith had no idea how to process the information at all. Keith felt relief, and he felt anger, and he felt sadness and regret and guilt building up in the pit of his stomach. He actually had to excuse himself at one point to throw up. It was all too much. He didn't know what to do with himself. 

When he realized the weight underneath him was no longer there, and he had been shifted into a better position onto the couch, the comforter covering his own frame instead was when Keith jolted awake. He'd only managed to knock out for a whole forty-five minutes, it seemed. He panicked when his eyes opened, though, his hands reaching out for Shiro. Had that been a dream? Had that all been a cruel dream, some delusion he'd built up in his own mind? Had he finally tipped over the edge and gone insane?

Hunk's resounding snores helped ease his nerves, but they didn't stop the urgency in Keith's hands as he slipped his boots onto his feet, his gloves soon to follow in record time. He shoved the door open, cringing slightly as it met the wall with a _snap._ It was soon forgotten as he spotted Shiro some ways out, dressed in his old clothes and standing upon a mound in the sand, his gaze cast towards the rising sun. 

Keith ran out to him, his heart hammering in his chest. He hadn't gotten a chance to say anything to Shiro the night before. All he could hear were Shiro's screams, his pleading and his begging before they put him under. Presumably to look at Shiro's right arm, which glinted strangely in the dawn of their new day. 

Shiro was still there, and Shiro was alive. He looked preoccupied as he didn't even notice Keith walking up behind him, his hand outstretched for an undecided gesture. Time seemed to stop again in that moment. Keith's head was spinning as he thought about what to say, what to ask. For a man he had presumed as dead for the last year, it was turning out to be surprisingly harder than he had thought to deal with. Keith wanted to cry. Keith wanted to lower his arm and reach out to hug the man's waist instead. Keith wanted to puke again. Keith wanted to run away from his emotions, which all seemed to be bubbling to the surface, suffocating him in those few seconds where the entire universe seemed to question what was happening. Keith wanted to say everything, and nothing. 

Keith's hand clapping mindlessly against Shiro's shoulder brought him back to reality, and he gasped sharply, casting his gaze low. Shiro turned to meet his eyes, a foreign expression in them as he looked Keith over. In that second, as Keith looked up to meet Shiro's gaze, everything seemed to fall into place. Keith knew what he had to say, what would be most appropriate for the moment, even for as simple as it was. 

"It's good to have you back," he said, his voice quiet.

Shiro smiled. "It's good to be back."


End file.
